Madison times. (Tallulah, Madison Parish, La.) 1884-1???, 1887-02-19

ten, for never can tell what it's no
ing to 10 next"
Ard from that tihie Gay had kept
her eye upon the kitten, anticipating
every contemplated raid on Aunt Ju.
4 dye property, except upon that one
occasion OF the rector's visit. But to-
day Gay had altogether forgotten her
duty. There she was, high in the fern
walk, sitting on a large stone, her head
In her hand, a letter on her knee.
1t was a letter from Barbara-a
long, affectionate letter, such as girls
love. After lengthy account OF the
tournament and the dance that fol-
lowed, Barbara went on to say:
by the way, do you remember
Theodore Marston-Ted Marston,
you know-=who went away to Austria
liz, suddenly ever so long ago? Well,
he is come back, and we met him last
night. He sang with Francesca, and
after while he said:
"'Your sister GAYS not here, is
she? suppose she is married."
"Oh, MOI said Francesca in that
ingenious way OF hers, she isn't mar
ried; we none of us are. She is down
in the country, staying with Aunt Ju-
dy. She is quite altered-not at all
the sort of girl she was when you
were here, when we first called her
Gay, you know. What made you
think she was married."
"1 dou't know said Mr.. Ted, hes
itatingly. 4 heard-that Is, l
thought
"And when Francesca, who was de-
teGmined to get at the right of it.
asked what he heard, it turned
out that he hadn't heard anything.
He only imagined it. Wasn't it funny
OF him?"
Gay read the words over and over
again. When Aunt Judy's letter ar
rived, she had determined at once to
give up the ensuing weeks festivities,
and having made the sacrifice with a
full desire to do her duty, she had
come with a cheerful smile and willing
hands to amuse and entertain her
somewhat exacting relative. As day
after day she set herself resolutely to
her task, the remembrance of the gay
cites her sisters were enjoying filled
her less with a desire to participate in
them. She felt that, after all, such
pleasures had but very fleeting
charm for her; that there was a void
in her life which amusements could
never fill. When four years ago, Theo-
dore Marston went away, after weeks
OF GOODNESS and misunderstanding,
followed by painful and stormy in
terveiw, Gabrielle knew that his going
would leave an everlasting blank in
her life. The pride which had prevent
ell any attempt at reconciliation pre-
vented also any betrayal of feeling to
the outside world. There had never
been any engagement, and no one
not even her sisters-thought of attri-
buting Theodore's departure to Ga
brielle's apparent indifference, or the
gradual change in Gabiielle's whole
nature to Theodore's departure.
Gay herself scarcely knew that she
was changed. The old buoyant,
youthful spirit was, indeed, still upper
most; but the innocent, thouehtless
gayety was gone forever. The in
herent pride OF her nature stood her
in good stead. Thoroughly at loss
to understand Theodore's sudden
GOODNESS at a time when the friend
ship between them had been very
warm and close, she resolved to shut
up her heart upon him, and she en-.
deavored to keep her resolve, al
though the experience OF the long years
that followed taught her that 1t was
but q vain endeavor.
Now, at last, he had come back and
had seen her sisters. The thought of
a meeting, which chance circumstances
had seemingly prevented, awoke all
the old passionate, tumultuous feel
ings. The impulse to run away from
"Ennui House." so APPLY nicknamed,
from Aunt Judy and her work basket,
from the unfortunate kitten anil the
more important curate, was very
strong. 1t would be so easy, for Bar.
bara was quite ready to take her
place if she would only consent to re-
turn, and she knew that Aunt Judy
would be willing to accept Barbara's
But pride was
stronger than passion. Does happi-
ness ever come for the seeking? Is it |
not rather in the faithful fulfillment OF
the duty that lies nearest that happi-
ness. unlimited, comes? Gabrielle |
thought it must be so. After all the
pain and misery 80 bravely overcome,
should she be weak enough now to |
confess that regret for the past had |
power to darken the future?
She dashed the tears from her eyes,
crumpled up the letter in her hand,
and was about to jump down the
steep bank, when a quick, shrill voice
broke the silence.
"Oh, dear me! Oh, dear, dear mel |
To think that you should wake me
up like that, you naughty little kitten;
and such a beautiful sleep too! And |
there's all my pretty work on the
ground, after all the trouble I've had
to match those woods. Gayl Gay! |
Bless the child, where is she? Gay" in
louder, shriller treble. where have
you been to, child, to let this creature |
wake me up?"
Gay stopped down and picked up
the woods, carefully sorting one from |
the other, and placed them on the
garden seat.
Then she took up the kitten, who
was attentively following her every
movement with its paw. and, perch |
ing it on her shoulder, stood looking
down on the perturbed old lady.
'1t's a great shame, and Pm very |
sorry, aunt. l ought to have taken |
him with me, but forgot"
There, child, it's always the same
excuse, There never was such O. |